


Carry You Home

by Writing_is_THORapy



Series: The Dead-ception AU [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - The Clone Wars: Rako Hardeen Arc, Character Death, Dai Bendu (Star Wars), Episode: s04e15 Deception, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Overuse of Em-dashes, Post-Episode: s04e15 Deception, Rako Hardeen Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), Sorry Not Sorry, Suicidal Ideation (for like a single sentence), Survivor Guilt, Tags May Change, The Dead-ception AU, This one's really gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_is_THORapy/pseuds/Writing_is_THORapy
Summary: (AKA The Dead-ception AU)In which the wrong man is shot during the "Deception" Arc and the results are much more permanent.(OR: Anakin is shot instead of Obi-Wan and dies as a result. Now, those who remain must learn to navigate a world without the Chosen One)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CC-1010 | Fox & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: The Dead-ception AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025967
Comments: 221
Kudos: 356
Collections: Captain Rex Stuff





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea popped in my head and I just ran with it. My goal in writing this (besides the fact that it was an idea I wanted to write) was to make people cry, so that should give you a hint as to what the tone of this will be.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy reading it!

Obi-Wan Kenobi knows what he has to do. 

He’s not entirely keen on it, but he has dedicated nearly his entire life to the Jedi and respects his position as a Jedi Master and Council Member.

It is his duty.

He knows that his and Anakin’s relationship will likely be irreparably damaged, but that relationship, that _attachment_ , is not even supposed to exist in the first place. 

In general, Obi-Wan didn’t have high expectations for this mission. 

He had no idea it would go so wrong. 

* * *

As the blaster bolt goes through Anakin’s chest, life seems to operate in slow motion. 

Anakin staggers back, his feet suddenly meeting nothing but air as he tumbles from the rooftop. 

Obi-Wan barely registers yelling Anakin’s name as he instinctively reaches for his Padawan in a desperate attempt to halt his descent. 

His Padawan disappears over the edge and Obi-Wan can do nothing but watch. 

The Force howls and rages within him like waves crashing against a rocky shore, and he allows himself to be swept away in its current.

He runs after the bounty hunter (that _he_ had a hand in hiring), jumping across the rooftops and tackling the mercenary to the ground, pinning him to the roof. He wrenches Rako Hardeen’s mask off and is met with a triumphant gaze. 

Staring at this— this uncivilized _degenerate_ — a man who, to make matters worse, has the _audacity_ to look smug, Obi-Wan is filled with anger— both at himself and the man currently staring up at him. 

“ _You shot the wrong man_ ,” he growls, the emitter of his lightsaber flush against Hardeen’s chest. He knows that he’s completely ruining the confidentiality of the mission and its details, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

The bounty hunter, seemingly unfazed by the Jedi’s slip and the imminent threat to his health, sneers at Obi-Wan. “The Republic, or whoever the kriff hired me, ain’t my only client,” he drawls. “Sure, you guys paid well… but the Separatists gave me _triple_. Business is business, after all.” 

Obi-Wan’s fury boils over as dark, corrupted tendrils wrap around him in a twisted embrace. 

Without so much as a second to reconsider, Obi-Wan ignites his lightsaber, the blade going straight through Hardeen’s chest. 

As soon as he feels the life leave the bounty hunter, he rises, feeling infinitely older and burdened. 

He tries to sense Anakin in the Force, but is instead greeted with sheer chaos and agony whose magnitude nearly sends him to his knees. Panic surges through him and he sets out to find his Padawan as fast as the Force will allow. 

He leaves Rako Hardeen’s corpse behind without an ounce of guilt. 

* * *

Obi-Wan races across the rooftops, jumping down to an alleyway when he senses Ahsoka’s presence. 

The sight he is greeted with is one he never, not even in his most surreal nightmares, thought he would have to see, and is one he knows he won’t ever forget. 

Ahsoka’s lithe body heaves and shakes with her heart-wrenching sobs, her murmured pleas indiscernible to Obi-Wan. 

It’s the figure she is sobbing over that truly shatters his world. 

Each step seems to take more energy and will than he possesses. 

As he gets closer, Ahsoka looks up at him, tear tracks shining on her face, her expression one of absolute, soul-crushing anguish. 

“M-Master Obi-Wan!” She breathes, a hint of relief in her tone. “A— H-he— I can’t heal him i-it’s _not working_! Y-you gotta help ‘cause I-I’m _useless_ and-and it _hurts_.” Her last word is partially lost to her gasping sobs, but Obi-Wan barely registered what she was saying, anyway. 

He can’t stop looking at the limp body in her arms, or the blue eyes that gaze upwards at the stars, unseeing. 

He falls to his knees across from Ahsoka, the inert form between them making the small space seem insurmountably large. 

Obi-Wan combs his fingers through tangled, dark blonde hair, trying not to think of how _still_ (he always had such a difficult time with conventional meditation but could sink into such a state with ease when using a hydrospanner) and _cold_ (he always hated the cold; his sleep couch had enough blankets for at least 5 Jedi) the figure below him is, trying not to think of the severed Force bond that wails in the abyss of his mind. 

He knows there’s no chance of healing. For anyone. 

And it’s all his fault. 

The regret and sorrow run him through, fatal wounds he is now forced to endure without his Padawan, his best friend, his child, his brother at his side. 

Obi-Wan sighs, a profoundly broken sound, and gently closes his Padawan’s eyes. 

For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan wished he was dead.

Maybe then Anakin would still be alive. 

* * *

Ahsoka cannot— will not— let go of her Master, baring her sharp canines at any who dare to attempt to separate them. 

Obi-Wan kneels across from her, eyes dry but glazed over, his breathing stilted. He holds Anakin’s flesh hand with both of his as if it’s a lifeline.

Though she knows that there were some citizens nearby, the first individuals that she truly registered (besides Obi-Wan) were those in the Coruscant Security Force. A small part of her is grateful to the CSF, for they arrived quickly and were efficient in their crowd control. 

The rest of her just doesn’t care. 

She thinks she sees flashes of red and white Plastoid, thinks she hears different variations of the same familiar voice, but none of that is important. She’s not even sure what _is_ important anymore. 

A hand tries to rest on her shoulder and provide a semblance of solace or comfort, but she snarls, removing the appendage from her shoulder with a sharp jolt. 

They don’t know what it’s like. 

They will never know what it’s like to have your world collapse right under your feet because your Master is _dead_ and you couldn’t save him.

* * *

_“Lemme guess, Fox: Hardcase, Fives, and Echo got arrested and you need me to pick them up.”_

_“No. No, Rex, it’s… I need you to go to the location I’m about to send you.”_

_“...Why? Is everything ok? Are you in trouble? And if so, why are you calling_ me _of all people?”_

_“I’m not in trouble, Rex, just… get there ASAP, ok?”_

_“What’s going on, Fox? What aren’t you tellin’ me?”_

_“I… just get there, Rex,_ ok _?”_

_“Ok, ok, I got it. I’m heading out now.”_

* * *

It’s Fox’s tone, not his words, that informs Rex of the urgency of the situation. He’s never heard the stoic Commander sound so… shaken. Heck, he’s never even seen him look remotely fazed.

When he arrives at the given location, he is greeted with a small cluster of people, all of whom are being told to vacate the area by the CSF. Further down what appears to be an alleyway, the area is cordoned off and surrounded by the Coruscant Guard. 

Pacing in front of his troops is Fox himself. 

He knew the situation was serious—Fox wouldn’t have asked him to come otherwise—but he didn’t think the Commander of the Guard himself would be there.

He starts forward towards his _vode_ but is stopped by the CSF. 

Disgruntled, he is about to call out for Fox when the man himself intercedes. “It’s ok, men,” he tells the officers. “He’s cleared.” 

They step aside and allow him to continue, falling into step with Fox. 

“ _Vod’ika_ ,” Fox greeted him with a nod. If Fox, one of the least externally sentimental brothers he knows, is calling him “little brother” then something _really_ must be wrong. “I… I’m so sorry.”

Rex is about to ask Fox what the _kriff_ is going on— never in a million standard years did he think he’d hear _Fox_ deliver an apology not dripping with sarcasm or meant for a galactic official— when the Guards split and grant him passage into the enclosed area.

He’s no longer sure if he’s trapped in a nightmare or, even worse, a nightmarish reality. 

His General lies unmoving on the ground, the Commander and General Kenobi on either side of him. 

The various sounds of the bustling ecumenopolis seem to fade away as his steps echo ominously on the Permacrete. 

He stops walking when he notices how tightly the Commander’s arms are wrapped around the General and Kenobi’s white-knuckled grip on his counterpart’s left hand. 

“Commander?” Rex calls out. When that doesn’t get her attention, he tries, “Ahsoka?”

Her head snaps up towards him, and he can’t help but notice how bloodshot her eyes are. Despite the dingy lighting, the clear lines that run down her cheeks shine clearly.

“Rex?” She responds, her voice hoarse and unstable, as if she were moments away from completely breaking down (which is probably true, if what Rex is desperately hoping did not occur has indeed occurred). “W-what are you doing here?” 

He cautiously edges closer, keeping his hands within sight and away from his blasters.

“I was… told to come. What _happened_?” 

Ahsoka’s eyes fill with tears and her lip quivers. “ _Re-ex_ ,” she sobs, her body bent with the force of her sorrow. 

He rushes over to her side to offer comfort, steadfastly ignoring the body before him, refusing to analyze or draw any conclusions.

(Obi-Wan has yet to acknowledge his presence.) 

“I’m here, little’un,” he soothes, wrapping an arm around her hunched shoulders. “Talk to me.”

“We— we were jus’— just _out_ and then there was this bounty hunter and he— he sh- _shot_ A-Anakin and now he’s **_dead_**.” She starts wailing then, and Rex numbly tightens his hold. 

General Skywalker had always seemed so… _invincible_. Rex had seen and worked with other _Jetiise_ , and yet none of them seemed to possess his raw power. 

It’s unfathomable to him that something as seemingly mundane as a potshot from some second-rate hunter would be the thing to take him out. Not an army of droids, not MagnaGuards, not a witch— not even a Sith Lord. A _karking_ bounty hunter. 

He forces himself to look at the form in Ahsoka’s arms. 

It’s just… _wrong_. Unnatural. General Skywalker wasn’t _supposed_ to die. 

Rex is a simple clone, bred for combat. He’s expendable. 

Rex is the one who was made to die. 

Not his _Jetii_. 

There is one face that he is accustomed to seeing fallen in battle, and that’s his own. 

Never Anakin’s. 

He chokes on his own breath as the realization really hits him. 

He stumbles away from Ahsoka, collapsing against a wall and sliding down to a sit on the ground, his head in his hands. 

His General was _killed_ on his home turf, and Rex wasn’t there to watch his back. 

How is he supposed to tell the rest of the 501st?

He lifts his head from his hands, gaze landing upon his fallen General.

Something clicks. 

“I—I gotta make a call.” 

The least Rex can do is give his General a 501st-worthy send-off.

* * *

The location Rex gives Torrent is far enough from the... _scene_ so they can find out on _his_ terms. Before heading over to the meeting place, Rex quietly pulls Fox aside and asks him to find a white sheet. 

He may not know much about _Jetiise_ rituals, but he hopes that this isn’t too far off. If he could, this is what he would do for a brother, and General Skywalker qualifies as such in his book. 

He thanks the Fox with a nod and heads to the designated area. 

It feels like he spends an eternity pacing and desperately trying to _not_ break down when he hears the distinct sound of the gunships up ahead. 

As the pilots land the ships on the narrow streets and rooftops with ease, Rex realizes with a pang that his General will never get to fly with them again. Though he valued each and every member of Torrent and the 501st, he had deeper relationships with his pilots as a result of long and frequent visits to the hangar bay. 

Despite the abundance of teasing regarding his inability to properly land a ship with minimal damage, there was no one else as skilled in the pilot’s seat as his General. 

Torrent exits the gunships and gets into formation in a timely fashion. Rex paces the columns, dreading every second of the conversation to come. 

He never thought he’d have to tell his men their General was dead. 

Fives, as abrasive as ever (a trait only exacerbated by his promotion to an ARC trooper), grabs Rex’s bicep when he crosses in front of him. 

“Sir,” he murmurs. “You gave us minimal details in your summons, and this definitely doesn’t seem like training. What’s going on?” 

More than ever, Rex wishes he could put his helmet back on. But he needed everyone to see his eyes for this, and he needed to see theirs. 

He gives Fives a flat look, and backs up to survey the entirety of Torrent. 

“Buckets off, men!” He shouts. They acquiesce, though he can see the confusion on their faces and in their body movements.

He has no idea what to say. Nothing but time could possibly ease the misery that will come with the news he is about to deliver.

“You are all here today because… something has happened.” The words seem to lodge themselves in his throat, escaping only by sheer force of will. For the sake of his own resolution, Rex tries to only focus on the details themselves. “Earlier this evening, Generals Skywalker and Kenobi, as well as Commander Tano, were confronted by a bounty hunter.” Scattered murmurs ripple through the ranks. “During the dispute, the General was shot in the chest and…” 

Rex feels a burning sensation as the tears gather in his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. He must remain strong for his men, the soldiers that are looking to him for good news or a glimmer of hope. 

He has none to give. 

“General Skywalker has been killed.” Silence. “I’m sorry, boys.” 

There’s another moment of complete silence, and then Torrent erupts with emotion. 

Despite their shared DNA, each trooper has a slightly different method and emotional reaction to such a horrifying and unexpected report. Some swear angrily and chuck their buckets to the ground, while others burst into tears or are frozen with shock. Brothers push each other away and hold each other close. 

Rex is so focused on keeping it together and watching the men that he doesn’t notice Fives’ approach until the ARC trooper clamps a hand on his shoulder. He whips his head around and meets stunned, sorrowful eyes. 

“How do you know this isn’t some crazy hoax? Have you… y’know, seen ‘im?”

“Yes, Fives, I’ve seen him.” He looks down and the ground, unable to hold the trooper’s earnest gaze. 

There’s a long moment of silence in which Rex assumes Fives is processing this revelation. Then, “are Tano and Kenobi with him?” He nods. 

“Hey, Rex,” he looks up at Fives. “The General’s death hurts all of us, but I know you two had become close friends. Just… hang in there, ok?” Rex gives Fives a weak appreciative smile in response, and the trooper wanders over to the others. 

Rex steels himself. General Skywalker had always kept his head held high, even when the odds were against them. 

He never doubted Rex or the 501st. They must continue to earn such fealty, even though he’s gone. 

Using his best Captain Voice, he brings the men back. “I didn’t have you all come here just to tell you that. You see, we have one last mission to complete for the General. 

“I know this is complete _osik_. And there will be time to properly process and deal with the General’s death. But right now, just as he always looked out for us and carried us through countless battles, it’s _our_ turn to carry _him_.”

He meets the eyes of each and every man in Torrent Company and sees the same fierce, unconditional loyalty that surges inside of him. 

“Let’s bring him home, boys.” 

* * *

Rex, along with Fives and Jesse, go to collect the Jedi. Fox is waiting for them at the scene, a bundle of white cloth in his arms. He reverently hands it off to Rex.

“Thank you,” Rex says, a hand on Fox’s shoulder. The Guard Commander nods in return, and the troopers continue on. 

He hears Jesse’s sharp intake of breath and Fives’ quiet “oh,” as they approach. The two troopers hang back as their Captain walks forward, putting a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. 

“General, Commander… it’s time to go.” 

Ahsoka frantically shakes her head, eyes never straying from the General’s inert form. 

“I won’t leave him.”

“We’re not leaving him, little’un. Fives and Jesse are here with me, see? We’re gonna take you back to the Temple. That alright?” She nods. “Ok. I have this, um… if you just wanna…” He fumbles with cloth in his arms, which Ahsoka, after some hesitation,z accepts after gently placing the Jedi on the Permacrete. 

She fidgets with the fabric in her shaking hands as she looks up at Rex, eyes red and glassy. Her gaze flits over to Fives and Jesse, both of whom are lingering in the background.

The anguish and heartbreak are clear in her expression, and the burning fissure within him grows at the sight. 

“Rex, I…”

“Shh, it’s al—” He stops himself from uttering an empty platitude. It’s _not_ alright, and won’t be for a while. “I have to ask… the _shabuir_ that did this… where are they?”

“Taken care of,” she hisses. Though Rex derives some savage pleasure from this fact, he would’ve liked to get a few punches in. 

Either way, the bounty hunter’s demise doesn’t change anything.

Anakin’s still dead and his world is still crumbling. 

He turns to join Jesse and Fives and provide the _Jetiise_ some privacy when a soft, fractured voice calls his name and stops him in his tracks.

Rex turns back around and meets the stare of Obi-Wan Kenobi.  
  


Though the man’s eyes are dry, there’s something deeply broken there. 

Rex thinks that part of Obi-Wan died with his Padawan. 

“Thank you, Captain,” the Jedi murmurs with a slight incline of his head. Rex returns the gesture and, after unclipping his helmet from his belt, puts it on and walks away.

* * *

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka wordlessly wrap Anakin in the white cloth, each move done as if he were only sleeping and could wake up at the slightest jolt. 

They simply kneel there when they finish, neither quite sure what to do. 

It’s just them. Master and Padawan with the covered corpse of the man who was once both during his life. 

Ahsoka has calmed down. Her eyes are dry as she places a shaking hand on the cloth, shutting them for a brief moment before retracting with a strange sense of reverence about her, the solemn goodbye just slipping through her grasp. 

“Are we ready?” She asks, her voice raspy. Obi-Wan nods in response, waiting for her to rise before scooping Anakin’s body into his arms.

Anakin was his to carry through life— a duty he initially resented but now cannot imagine his life without. 

But the guilt makes the burden almost too great to bear. 

Nonetheless, he will not let go. Not again. 

Each step he takes feels like an impossibility he does not deserve. 

As Obi-Wan and Ahoska, the two walking side-by-side, continue on, the clones take notice. Their postures notably shift, a sense of attentiveness and veneration now present. 

With a nod to the Jedi, Rex takes the lead as Jesse and Fives fall back and flank either side. 

After they pass through the blockade, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka stop in their tracks. Obi-Wan hears his companion gasp.

The entirety of Torrent Company was there.

Anakin’s men stood in rows facing the center, creating an aisle that led to an open gunship. 

For just a second, Rex’s helmet slightly turns towards them, a message of condolence and shared grief. 

“Company!” Rex barks, his voice ringing out amongst the ranks. “Present arms!” 

Torrent moves in perfect sync, their DC-15s positioned vertically in front of their torsos, backs straight and heads held high. 

Anakin would’ve been proud. 

Obi-Wan can see and feel Rex’s stalwart presence before him and the surrounding pillars of strength. 

It feels like a hug he knows he doesn’t deserve. 

Rex gives them time to process the sight they had been greeted with before beginning his stoic walk to the open gunship. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka follow, Fives and Jesse close behind. 

The first step Obi-Wan takes is accompanied by a single, all-important second of complete silence. There is no shouting or blaster fire or clinking drinks. He does not hear the hum of speeders nor the bustling Coruscant nightlife.

For one, utterly mundane second, all of Coruscant stops and mourns. 

And then the sound returns as if it never left, the moment unacknowledged. Life never stops on Coruscant— not even for the Hero with No Fear. 

They continue on.

* * *

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka walk onto the gunship, Fives and Jesse stationed on opposite sides of the open door with Rex standing guard at the opening. 

Unwilling to relinquish his hold on Anakin, Obi-Wan sits on one of the benches in the ship. Ahsoka silently joins him, her familiar presence a source of comfort. 

The bullet-proof vest under his robes seems to burn through his skin and stifle his breath. _He_ was the one who was supposed to get shot. _He_ was the one who was supposed to take the fall. _He_ was the one who was supposed to—

“Sirs.”

Rex is standing in front of them, and Fives and Jesse lean against the sides of the ship at the opposite end. The doors of the gunship were closed. 

“Are you ready to go?”

Obi-Wan glances at Ahsoka, who has preoccupied herself with staring at Anakin’s covered feet. She doesn’t acknowledge his stare, though he knows she feels it. Obi-Wan turns back to Rex.

“Yes, Captain.” Rex nods, pressing a button on his wrist comm. 

“Ready, Hawk,” he says. Obi-Wan feels the thrum of the engines and a jolt as the gunship takes off.

* * *

If one had stopped at the right place and the right time and looked up, they would have seen 5 gunships flying overhead in a V-shaped formation. The ship at the leader’s starboard side abruptly pulled out as the rest continued on, the hole within their otherwise-perfect formation undeniable to any who cared to look. 

With the first rays of sun softly caressing its wings, the lone gunship flew off towards the Jedi Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… there’s that. Sorry?
> 
> Mando’a Translations:  
>  _Vode_ = Brothers  
>  _Vod’ika_ = Little Brother  
>  _Osik_ = Dung (impolite)  
>  _Jetii/Jetiise_ = Jedi (singular)/Jedi (plural)  
>  _Shabuir_ = An extreme insult; "jerk" but stronger
> 
> A couple of notes:
> 
> Some of the characters’ methods of dealing with grief are based upon my own. Others are not. Either way, everyone deals with grief differently, and I tried my best in portraying that to the best of my ability.
> 
> The command that Rex calls out is based on certain drill commands in the U.S. I am not by any means an expert on military procedure; my only source for this stuff was the internet. If you see a command that you know is blatantly wrong, please let me know and I'll be happy to make the change!
> 
> The formation that the gunships initially fly in is known as a “Vic Formation,” which leads into a modified version of the “Missing Man Formation.” Again, I’m not in the military, nor did I consult anyone who is/was. 
> 
> As you can probably tell from the chapter count, I will most definitely be continuing this. I really appreciate your kudos, comments, or both; they honestly make my day and really motivate me to write!
> 
> Be sure to check out my [Tumblr](https://newdougsblog.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here we are with chapter two, only a week later! (Don’t expect weekly updates to become a thing. My brain does not comply with update schedules.) 
> 
> This chapter is just as angsty (if not more so) than the first, so buckle up, and happy (er, well, not _happy_ but you know what I mean) reading!!

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how long the flight to the Temple takes. He just feels the soft thud when they land, and is nearly blinded by the light that streams in when the doors are opened. Obi-Wan rises from the bench, Ahsoka not too far behind him, and exits the ship, blinking rapidly at the sunlight shining in his eyes. Fives and Jesse once again act as sentries.

The Force screams in pain, as it has ever since… _It_ happened, and he cannot understand how the Light of the Temple has remained unchanged when the Force’s brightest flame was extinguished. 

He notices that a certain togruta is no longer at his side and briefly panics until he spots her wrapped in Rex’s arms, the Captain murmuring soft words of comfort to the distressed Padawan (but she isn’t a Padawan anymore, is she? Her Master is dead. She’s an orphan, now). 

Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Yoda await their arrival. They’ll be expecting a body, but it won’t be the one they’re getting.

He walks up to them, noticing how their shields make detecting their true emotions impossible, yet each of them seems to wear an equally pained expression (except for Mace. Mace just looks angrier than usual). 

“Something terrible, we sensed,” Yoda begins, voice noticeably subdued. “In pain, the Force is.”

“Yes, Masters,” Obi-Wan says, unable to meet their eyes. They all look at the body in Obi-Wan’s arms in a brief moment of shared solidarity and mourning. 

“Come,” Mace instructs. “Why don’t we take Knight Skywalker down to the mortuary. Then we’ll debrief you and Padawan Tano.” Obi-Wan nods and walks over to retrieve Ahsoka.

* * *

“So you’re telling us that Hardeen didn’t even _attempt_ to shoot you, despite you being out in the open?”

“That is correct, Master Tiin.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flick to his empty chair. He is standing in front of the rest of the Council. All of them are at the meeting, whether that be in-person or via hologram. 

“After you caught him, what did he say?” Master Gallia asks.

“He said that the Separatists paid him triple for-for shooting Anakin.” He knows his voice wavers at Anakin’s name and is grateful to the Council for ignoring such signs of weakness. 

“Which begs the question: does this mean that the Separatists _knew_ about our plan? And if so, _how?_ ” Ki-Adi asks.

“I’ll tell you how: there’s obviously a leak,” Eeth Koth asserts. At this statement, the Council breaks out into a frenzied argument, each member speaking over one another. 

That is until Master Yoda taps his gimer stick on the ground. “Speak over one another, we must not. Nowhere, does this get us. A terrible tragedy, Skywalker’s death is. A great loss, this is. Mourn, the Force does. Mourn, we will. But rediscover balance, we must.”

“I agree, Master,” Mace adds. “The matter of Skywalker’s status as the Chosen One, no matter whether you believe in the prophecy or not, is also on the table.”

“The way I see it, there are two possibilities,” Oppo Rancisis suggests. “Either Skywalker’s death will indirectly result in Balance, or he was never the Chosen One at all.”

The Council continues to argue, but Obi-Wan no longer listens nor cares. Why does it matter if some prophecy is or isn’t fulfilled? A Jedi Knight and General, one of the greatest in the Republic, is _dead_.

His beloved Padawan and friend is _gone_ and all they seem to care about is a _karking prophecy_. 

He begins to walk out of the Council Chambers.

Kit Fisto must be the first to notice, for she says, “Obi-Wan, where are you going?”

“I’m very sorry my fellow esteemed Masters, but I presently cannot find it within myself to care about the implications of my Padawan’s _death_ in relation to some prophecy.”

Though his back is turned, he can feel the looks of sympathy he is receiving. 

“Obi-Wan, I’m sorry that we got… sidetracked, but we’d like to finish the debriefing,” Plo Koon tries.

He stops in the open doorway and faces the seated individuals within.

“The mission has already failed _spectacularly_ , and I see no reason to engage in any further discussion about it. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.”

Then he turns around and sees Ahsoka.

_Kriff_. 

“What mission?”

“...Ahsoka. I didn’t see you there.”

“ _Answer_ the question.”

He hesitates before continuing. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out, but…”

“Find out _what_?”

Obi-Wan looks around. “Let’s go to my quarters.”

She grumbles in agreement.

* * *

Obi-Wan had never realized how much his own rooms reminded him of Anakin. 

Residual whispers of his Padawan’s presence seem to wail like lingering spirits. He hears Ahsoka’s shaky inhale as she too senses it. 

There are physical reminders, too, such as an extra hydrospanner here and a half-built droid there.

As he stands by the doorway, flooded with memories, Ahsoka stalks past him and plops down on the couch.

  
  
“I currently have zero patience, so you better start talking, Obi-Wan,” she says, sounding so much like Anakin that Obi-Wan’s heart aches. 

He walks over, sitting next to her on the couch. 

“I was the one who was supposed to get shot.”

Her intense gaze shifts into one of sympathy. “Obi-Wan…”

He holds up a hand, stopping her. “No,” he begins, standing up. He undoes his belt and outer robes, exposing the bullet-proof vest underneath. “I was _literally_ the one who was supposed to get shot.”

He sees a myriad of emotions flit across her face until she finally settles on a confused sort of anger. 

“The Council had heard of an assassination plot against the Chancellor,” Obi-Wan begins, shedding the vest and unceremoniously dumping it on the ground. He grabs his discarded outer robes and dons them once again, more for the sake of propriety than anything else. “They sought to infiltrate the Separatist ranks. So, they anonymously hired Rako Hardeen, a bounty hunter who was rumored to possess an interest in the job. He was supposed to shoot me.  
  


“The Separatists, however, seem to have gotten to him first, and offered a much larger price for his… services.”

Ahsoka blinks at him. “Wait, so… he was supposed to shoot you, and then what?”  
  


Though he is once again fully clothed, Obi-Wan remains standing. “I was to fake my death and replace Rako Hardeen.”

“And… were you planning on _telling_ us this?”

“No. It… We felt that… Anakin’s reaction was supposed to be vital to the credibility of my… my death.”

She stares at him, mouth agape. She shakes herself out of her shocked reverie, scoffing in incredulity. 

“You were just going to… _manipulate_ us like that? I know how _I_ feel right now, but I can’t imagine how-how _he_ would feel if he thought you were dead. And-and you were going to let us think that?” She stands up, stalking towards him. “I can’t _believe_ you!”

“Ahsoka, I—”

“No! You don’t-you don’t _get_ to make excuses. Your stupid kriffing plan and stupid _kriffing_ secrets got Anakin _killed_!” She’s breathing heavily now, her teeth bared and sharp canines on display. 

The utter devastation that has nestled within him must partially bleed into his expression, for Ahsoka’s anger shifts, giving way to horror and disbelief. She steps back, shaking her head. 

“ _How could you?_ ” 

She turns and walks out the door. 

If her previous statements were small knives, this last one, laden with accusation and torment, is a blaster bolt straight through the chest. 

And _oh_ , isn’t that tragically ironic.

* * *

As Obi-Wan makes his way to Padmé’s apartment, his feet feel as if they are sinking in quicksand as the dread grows and grows. He knows that Anakin and Padmé ~~are~~ were close (closer, he suspects, than they should’ve been), so the news will likely hit her hard.

He’s not sure he can bear anyone else’s grief—not when he’s already drowning in his own. 

He reaches her door and raises a closed fist to knock… and hesitates.

Should he really be the one telling her this? He, the one who is at fault for Anakin’s death? 

But he knows the answer to that. This is not a burden he would ever pass off to Ahsoka, and Padmé definitely does not deserve to find out from the Holonet. 

No, he’s the only one who can tell her. 

He knocks on the door. 

A call of _“_ _coming!”_ sounds from within, and Padmé is soon at the door.

“Obi-Wan, what a pleasant surprise! Please, come in!” She ushers him in and has him sit down on a plush couch. “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to make us some tea.” She’s gone before he can even respond.

She returns an indeterminate amount of time later, placing a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of him. Padmé sits on the chair to the left of his.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages! You don’t visit often enough.” Her expression grows slightly annoyed. “It’s this dreadful war business. If only the Republic would… well, that’s not the point, I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to me rant about politics. So, how are you?”

“I’m… I’ve been better.” A severe understatement, to say the least. Padmé must see something within his expression, for she adopts a concerned look. 

“Is something wrong? Where’s Anakin? Oh, did he get himself hurt again? I swear, that man—”

“Padmé, there was… an attack. Anakin was… he was shot.”

“Oh dear… but he’s okay, isn’t he? A couple of days in a Bacta tank and he’ll be sparring with you or Ahsoka like usual, right?” 

“Padmé, he’s—” The words lodge themselves in his throat and threaten to choke him. The truth—the deep, dark, horrifying truth—threatens to rend him apart and swallow him whole. 

A small part of him wishes it would.

Especially with the look on Padmé’s face, the look of someone standing on the edge of a cliff, watching and waiting and hoping for a miracle. 

And it is Obi-Wan who has to push her into the abyss. 

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, Padmé… he’s gone.”

Obi-Wan sees the exact moment it registers because her expression _shatters_. 

“Oh..” She chokes out, delicately placing her cup on the table as tears quickly gather in her eyes. “Oh _Force_ …” She lifts a hand to her mouth, her shoulders trembling with the force of her sobs. 

Obi-Wan walks over, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

He has no idea how long he remains there, shoving his own despair deep, deep down, but when Padmé finally collects herself, she looks at him with mournful, red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry, I-I’m not usually so emotional,” she says, smiling weakly. “But-but I’m sorry for _your_ loss, too. I mean… I can’t even imagine.” 

He knows he’s unable to return her shaky smile, so he doesn’t even try. “I-I appreciate the concern, but I’m… I’ll be alright.” His statement doesn’t seem to convince her. “I think you have every right to be emotional, Padmé. I know you two were good friends. He-he thought very highly of you.”

She almost seems to grimace at that. “We were… a little more than that.”

He sighs. He really should’ve known, but more than that, he regrets the lack of trust Anakin had in him, the paranoia and doubt that kept his Padawan from telling Obi-Wan about such an important part of his life. 

And honestly, Obi-Wan can’t even blame him for it. 

“I see,” he replies, feeling so incredibly drained. “You were lovers.”

“Uh, well… we were married.”

Oh. _Oh_. 

That was _much_ more than he expected. 

He’s pretty sure that his current expression could, under entirely different circumstances, be considered quite comical. 

“Since-since _when_?”

“Since after Geonosis. It was-it was small. Artoo and Threepio were our witnesses. I wish— I wish I could be telling you this because of something _good_ , and I wish he was here, too.”

“Me too,” he replies. _More than anything_ , neither of them say. 

Padmé is— no, Padmé _was_ — Anakin’s _wife_.

He owes her the truth, he realizes. The whole truth. 

“Padmé, there’s something I need to tell you…”

* * *

_Well_ , Obi-Wan thinks as he walks away from Padmé’s apartment, _at least she took it better than Ahsoka did_.

Though that doesn’t mean she took it well. 

He’s ruined so many lives within the past twelve hours and each one makes him hate himself a little more.

* * *

Obi-Wan stands alone in front of the stone pallet, the hood of his cloak pulled over his head. 

Ahsoka stands on the other side of the dais and refuses to look at him. 

A large amount of Torrent, along with other assorted members of the 501st, stands in the back of the chamber. Rex, however, was dragged to the front by Ahsoka and seems uncharacteristically discomfited in his dress greys.

Padmé is also present. A japor snippet, presumably given to her by Anakin, proudly adorns her neck. 

Other senators are there, too, as is, most notably, the Chancellor himself. 

All of these observations are mainly peripheral, though— as much as he wishes to look anywhere else, his eyes are unable to stray from the covered body that rests upon the platform. 

Anakin’s lightsaber hangs heavy on his belt, the kyber crystal within howling in pain. 

“Though gone, he is, brought us together today, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker has. Our job, it is, to remember that we will, in time, also pass on. Luminous beings, are we, but temporary vessels, our bodies are, and we shall all find ourselves here, in time. _Enoah kar tonbrei midai'al_.”

  
“ _Enoah kar tonbrei midai'al_ ,” the other Jedi present dutifully repeat. 

The words, traditional at every Jedi memorial, seem so sterile and inadequate for someone who had made such a tremendous impact on so many lives.

But isn’t that always the case? Don’t words always seem to fail when it comes to those that make you feel so _whole_ and _content_ and a host of other emotions that cannot possibly be verbalized?

“A moment of silence I ask, to remember, and to move on.”

The silence is too empty; a void that once would have been filled with a snarky endearment now and forevermore remains vacant. 

Just as no parent should have to bury their child, no Master should have to bury their Padawan.

The _tap_ of Master Yoda’s gimer stick resonates throughout the chamber, and Anakin’s body begins to sink into the floor. 

Obi-Wan wants nothing more than to cry out in protest, to tell them to _stop_ , just so he can look at his Padawan one last time.

But his chances are up; each opportunity squandered because there would always be another and another and another— until there were none left. 

The Force swells, overburdened with grief and turmoil.

The beam of light that shoots upwards is almost blinding, but not nearly bright enough to match the brilliance lost. 

_There is no Emotion, there is Peace._

A solitary tear slides down his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The language used during the Jedi funeral is Dai Bendu, the Jedi conlang created by [@loosingletters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters), [@aroacejoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroacejoot), and [@ghostwriterofthemachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterofthemachine)!
> 
> Translation (Yoda’s Basic is that of a couple of centuries ago, but he speaks current-day Dai Bendu): _Enoah kar tonbrei midai'al._ = He (Jedi) is one with the Force. 
> 
> In an amazing Star Wars Discord I’m part of, a hotly-debated topic is whether Obi-Wan’s actions during the Deception Arc were acceptable. There are many ways to look at it that speak to both sides of the argument and I’m trying to represent these as much as I can where applicable. 
> 
> However, those arguments tend to apply more to a situation, like in canon, in which the mission goes as planned. In this AU, it very much _doesn’t_ go as planned. 
> 
> Also, _really_ not trying to villainize the Jedi Council here, sorry if it comes off that way. Remember that that entire exchange is from Obi-Wan’s POV, and he is extremely emotionally compromised at the moment (as much as he might try to deny it) and isn’t thinking clearly, so his perspective on the Council’s somewhat legitimate concerns is rather biased. Also, please excuse my made-up Council, I have no idea who is and isn’t on it during the Deception Arc. 
> 
> Part of Yoda's speech during the funeral is taken from the Clone Wars episode, “The Jedi Who Knew Too Much.”
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! Kudos and/or a comment, whether positive, constructive, or simply you screaming at me (which I will take as a compliment), are greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Wow, so I… kinda-sorta have somewhat of an update schedule with this fic now? Don’t count on it becoming a regular thing. If we’re sticking with the consistent update schedule idea, though, that means that this chapter is early! 
> 
> This chapter ended up a bit shorter than the previous two, and pretty dialogue-heavy, as well. The 501st sure does love to talk! Also, I _think_ this chapter is slightly less angsty than the others I’ve posted, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. 
> 
> As you can see, Dead-ception has now been made into a series! That isn’t to say there will be a sequel to this (I don’t _plan_ on there being a sequel), but I wrote an alternate ending to this AU that takes place after chapter 2. If you choose to read it (and I really hope you do!) it’s pretty sad and has some content that can be triggering for some, so _please_ read and mind the warnings before diving into that fic! 
> 
> Oh, and as of the last chapter, this is my longest fanfic! We also hit 100 kudos, and I wanted to thank everyone for supporting this angsty idea of mine. 
> 
> Anyway, on to the chapter!

Though the 501st barracks possess a completely different atmosphere than the Temple, Ahsoka has nonetheless come to see them as home. 

Most of Torrent, along with a smattering of other clones from different Companies and even legions (one such trooper being Commander Cody), are sitting in the rec room. All the tables were pushed to the edges of the room to make space for the large circle they had formed using assorted chairs and couches. Rex is on Ahsoka’s left, nursing a bottle of 501st rotgut that smells so toxic that Ahsoka won’t even dare to try it.

There’s an empty spot to Ahsoka’s right that, in a perfect world, a world that was _fair_ , would have been filled.

The mood is somber, yet there have been plenty of laughs to go around (mainly at-at _his_ expense). 

Fives is telling some crazy (and likely exaggerated) story about Anakin’s exploits, wild and flamboyant gestures included. “...Then the General _leaps_ up, takes out at least twenty clankers with the Force and another ten with his ‘saber, and says, ‘what’re you guys waiting for?’ like he hadn’t just done in a minute something that would’ve taken us like four times as long!” The story gets scattered laughter from those gathered, sad but fond looks on many troopers’ faces. 

“You guys remember Geonosis?” Ahsoka chimes in. “The second one, ‘cause I wasn’t at the first.” 

A couple of nods and grumbles about “kriffing bugs.” She feels Rex’s apprehension at her topic of choice and holds back a grin.

“Ahsoka, I don’t think we need to—”

“Shush, Mr. ‘I-Scream-Every-Time-I’m-Force-Pushed.’” She simpers. They all laugh as Rex mutters half-heartedly, flustered. He then sighs, taking a swig of his drink. 

“Y’know,” he begins, and everyone quiets down as the mood becomes serious. “As much as I hated being thrown off walls, I always knew the General would catch me. Always.” The thought hangs heavy, all of them remembering the many times in which their reckless, brave leader had saved them from certain death. 

“He was always so fearless,” Hawk says, a note of wonder in his voice. “Even when things looked, well… _bad_.”

“The Hero with No Fear,” another trooper, Tripwire, responds, citing his HoloNet-given moniker.

“That name’s complete _poodoo_ ,” Ahsoka cuts in. “He was afraid plenty. Afraid that he would let the Republic down, scared for our lives… but he never seemed to be afraid for his own.” She stops, suddenly finding it hard to speak around the lump in her throat. Rex lays a hand on her shoulder, and she finds the strength to continue. “He led all of us into battle without hesitation, even when the odds were slim, because he was always willing to lay down his life for any of ours.”

Everyone is quiet. Then, Fives lifts his bottle.

“A toast,” he proclaims, “to General Anakin Skywalker, the best there ever was and ever will be. _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_.”

Everyone raises their drinks in tribute, the troopers repeating the Mando’a phrase. Drinks are emptied and refilled, and the memorial continues on.

Ahsoka continues to smile and laugh and trade stories with the troops but inside she feels like she’s dying.

* * *

It’s late— or if one is being technical, very early. 

The gathering had continued long into the night but had eventually calmed down. Some had fallen asleep on the couches or even on the floor, while others had made it to their cots (or someone else’s).

Ahsoka had claimed an empty bunk in the barracks, unwilling to leave her (and Anakin’s) troops.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself. 

In truth, she wasn’t ready to enter the rooms once shared by her and her Master. She wasn’t ready to face the memories. 

Maybe that made her weak. Maybe that made her less of a Jedi than she should be. At the moment, that didn’t really matter. 

Ahsoka had laid on the bunk, listening to the sounds of the _Vode_ sleeping and finding comfort in the sound of their breathing. And then the realization that Anakin _wasn’t_ and never would again hit her like a punch to her montrals and she knew she wasn’t going to get _any_ sleep. 

She wearily rises from her bunk, exiting the room with the sort of effortless stealth that came with being Force-sensitive (and, of course, stealth training).

Ahsoka wanders the dark, silent halls of the 501st barracks, but is drawn out of her reverie by the small bit of light streaming from under one of the doors. 

Unsurprisingly, Rex is still up. 

Well, she figures, she’d rather be awake with someone else than awake and alone. 

Besides, she had a feeling that Rex might need the company. He’d been maintaining his stoic demeanor for the rest of the troops, but Ahsoka had quickly seen through the admittedly thin facade. 

Ahsoka knocks on his door. “Rex?” She calls out. “It’s me!”

“C’m in,” is the muffled response. She opens the door and sees Rex hunched over his desk, the bags under his eyes illuminated by the datapad he is poking at. More pads are stacked up at the corner of his desk. 

She walks in and flops onto his neatly-made bed, situating herself so that she is laying on her stomach whilst facing Rex, her arms and head hanging off of the mattress. “Whatcha doing?” She asks. 

“Boring stuff.”

“So paperwork?” He nods in response. The ensuing silence is heavy yet comfortable.

“...The General always hated paperwork,” he scoffs, sounding so sad and worn down. “He would tell me that unless it was something I needed him to look at or sign, he didn’t want to see a single piece of it.” Rex leans back in his chair, placing the datapad down on his desk. Ahoska flips over on the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “He’d sit with me sometimes, while I would do it. Would tinker with random parts or tune-up his arm. I asked him why once, an’ he said it was ‘cause he felt bad for making me do all the paperwork.” He chuckles and Ahsoka pretends not to notice how shiny his eyes are. “I know he didn’t feel bad. That doesn’t mean I appreciated it any less.”

“I remember when I killed someone for the first time. Don’t remember where we were. Guess it doesn’t matter. Either way, it was a Separatist military leader. I stabbed them in the stomach with my ‘saber. I don’t even remember their name. I _knew_ it was the right thing to do, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. Even though I never actually touched him, my hands felt so _dirty_ and they wouldn’t stop shaking. He—” She stops herself. It’s hard, it’s so, _so_ , hard but she needs to get used to it.

“ _Anakin_ found me after and wrapped me up in a blanket. He comforted me and calmed me down. I… I remember just finding it so _baffling_ because his actions and emotions didn’t seem very Jedi-like at all. But it helped. Was probably a lot more effective than meditating on my emotions would’ve been.

“I still had nightmares, though. Anakin somehow knew every time and would wake me up and stay with me.”

The unsaid truth, the sudden hole in both of their lives, hovers over both of them.

“I miss him,” she admits. “More than-than _anything_.”

“Me, too, Little’un,” Rex responds, voice rough with repressed emotion. He rises from his desk and sits next to her on the bed. 

“Y’know, us clones, we’re engineered for battle. We’re made to be expendable.” Ahsoka opens her mouth to protest but Rex stops her with a raised hand, a sad but knowing smile on his face. “I never imagined outliving the General. Don’t think I much like how it’s going.”

“Rex…”

“I don’t… Little’un, I gotta say— I’m _scared_. I have no idea what’s gonna happen to us now. You’re still too young to be a general —don’t give me that look, you know it’s true— and I don’t _want_ the 501st to be split up. I don’t want a new general, either. ‘Cause I mean… General Skywalker was the best. He didn’t see us as cannon fodder or numbers. He-he _understood_ and saw us as _people_. And-an’ that meant _so much_. 

“The long-necks were never like that, y’know? They always called us by our birth numbers, always told us that we were exact copies of each other, that we were one and the same. That an individual clone didn’t _matter_ as a-as a _person_. They told us that the Jedi didn’t care about us and that we should be ready and willing to lay down our lives for them, no matter what.

“So when I first reported to General Skywalker, I was real confused when he insisted on a _name_ , not a number. And he did the same for every one of us. Not only that, but he _remembered_. He could tell who was who just by looking at us— and he didn’t even use our paint to help him! Maybe he did a weird Force thing, I dunno… but it made us feel like… like we were worth _more_ than what the long-necks had told us. He saw each and every one of us as unique people. Not clones— _people_.

“And-and the thing is, I woulda died for the General in a heartbeat— not because of what the long-necks told us, but because he _earned_ it. Because he _cared_. He-he became like a brother. And now he’s _gone_.” 

By now, tears are silently streaming down Rex’s face. Ahsoka places a hand on his bicep and he looks up at her, expression that of a man standing at the edge of an abyss. 

Ahsoka wraps him up in her arms, just as he had done for her, and holds him tight as he breaks. 

And if she ended up shedding some tears, too… well, no one else would ever know. 

* * *

It’s quiet. 

There used to be times he wanted nothing more than silence. Now he longs for the noisiness of Before. 

He sits on his bed, his room dark except for the city lights that filter through the blinds. 

A lightsaber that isn’t his own is cradled in his hands, the kyber within crying out in a woeful lament that harmonizes with his own.

Obi-Wan Kenobi mourns alone and can’t help but think he deserves it. 

* * *

His eyes may be on the sprawling city view visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows, but his mind is elsewhere. 

Namely on the sheer agony that almost seemed to cripple the Force. He noticed his diminished control, almost as if the Force had retreated into Itself, and scowled. The hole left by the Chosen One’s departure from the world of the living is, of course, the explanation for such a phenomenon. 

Dooku, that old, pompous fool, couldn’t see past his own ambitions and had his future Apprentice killed.

Sidious smiles. 

  
Dooku would _pay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a Translation:  
>  _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_ = Not gone, merely marching away; tribute to a dead comrade.
> 
> Surprise! This fic actually has a bona fide plot! I mean, I hadn’t _planned_ on it having a legit plot— it was more going to be an exploration of grief— but I guess the fic decided it wanted to grow a plot.
> 
> FWI, Umbara hasn’t occurred in this fic because I didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of that and how it would affect the troopers’ reactions to Anakin’s death and the implications of this in regards to themselves. Also, I had already published the first chapter upon realizing that I forgot to mention Umbara (something that would _most certainly_ effect Rex’s POV in this situation) and didn’t want to have to rework everything. Zygerria also has not occurred. 
> 
> Also, the relationship between Ahsoka and Rex is _purely platonic_ and will stay that way. If you ship it, of course, that’s completely fine. However, I personally am not a fan of them as a romantic couple so I won’t be writing them that way. I think they’re adorable as best friends!
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading! Maybe consider leaving kudos and/or a comment?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to another chapter of the Dead-ception AU! This one is also rather dialogue-heavy. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it, though. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to the amazing [@ChaoticNeutral18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticNeutral18/pseuds/ChaoticNeutral18/works)! They gifted me with a wonderfully angsty fic, ["You're Fine,"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836341) as a holiday present, so you should all definitely check it out!!!
> 
> I’d just like to thank everyone for their continued support, especially my friends over at the New SW Canon Discord. I _love_ reading and replying to every single comment I receive. Thank you for taking the time to read my work!!
> 
> Without further ado, let’s get to the chapter!

It’s been one week.

One week since Ahsoka’s world had changed forever. 

Before the funeral, she just… hadn’t slept, instead opting to wander the Temples halls like a specter. For the past two nights, however, Ahsoka had slept in the barracks. The _vode_ of the 501st pretty much saw her as a sister, and she could not find it within herself to care much about impropriety. 

Clothes, had become an issue. She couldn’t exactly ask Barriss to fetch her some of her robes— that would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer and discussions she wasn’t ready to have. Instead, some of the smaller, younger troopers had given her extra blacks that she shrunk in the wash. 

Needless to say, she couldn’t continue to steal their clothes forever. That was just weird. But then Padmé came to mind. She considered the Senator a good friend and knew that she was close with Anakin, as well, though to what degree she didn’t know (she had once tried to bother Rex about it to see if he would crack, but no such luck). So Ahsoka borrowed a speeder and drove to 500 Republica. 

Ignoring the stares in her direction, she soon finds herself at Padmé’s apartment door and knocks, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she waits. In retrospect, she probably should have attempted to check if Padmé was home, but the Senate wasn’t in session so she had just… assumed. 

Thankfully, Padmé opens the door, datapad in hand. Ahsoka notices how tired she looks as well as the slight redness around her eyes, yet is astounded by how put-together she is. 

“Ahsoka.” Padmé offers her a warm smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come on in.”

Ahsoka is escorted into the apartment’s living room. Padmé seems to be keeping herself busy (or at least trying to), for the couch in her apartment is covered in datapads.

She instead sits on one of the adjacent chairs, waiting for Padmé to reappear from where ever she had gone off to. 

Her thoughts swirl about in her mind, mixing with the pain of the broken bond that she tries and tries to ignore but always goes back to. Before she is dragged down into the depths of despair, Padmé returns with two steaming mugs. 

“Here’s some caf,” she says, setting one of them on the table, seating herself in the small open space on the couch, legs folding under her. Padmé takes a sip of whatever she’s drinking (knowing her, it’s probably tea), her eyes seeming to read Ahsoka as if she is a Senate Bill. Or something. 

Ahsoka knows that Padmé isn’t Force-sensitive, but the Senator’s perceptiveness makes her wonder sometimes. 

“How are you doing, Ahsoka?” She asks, voice soft and level. 

“I’m…” She isn’t sure whether she wants to divulge the entirety of her turbulent emotions or give a simple answer. Padmé would never buy the latter and she knows the former would be… messy. So Ahsoka settles on a half-truth.

“I’ve been better. Definitely. It’s been hard. But, uh, thanks for asking. How-how are you? I know you and-and my Master were close.”

Padmé’s expression is one of absolute heartbreak, though it is there for but a second. 

“I’ve seen better days, as well.” 

They exchange smiles of shared loss and sit in silence, sipping their drinks. 

“Ahsoka,” Padmé says, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. “There’s something I should probably tell you. About my relationship with Anakin.”

Though hearing _his_ name makes her feel slightly ill, Ahsoka ignores the discomfort and places her mug on the table, attentively leaning forward in her chair. 

“So you _were_ together?” She tries to immerse herself in the excitement of such a revelation, tries not to think about how the other person they are discussing, the person that brought them together, can no longer say a word. 

“Ahsoka, we are—were— _married_.”

Ahsoka gapes at Padmé.

“Holy _kriff_. When?”

“Right after the first Battle of Geonosis.”

“So… the whole time I’ve known you and-and him, you’ve been married.”

Padmé nods. 

Despite the total betrayal of the Jedi Code, Ahsoka can’t help the near-elation she feels regarding the news. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.

Oh. _Oh_. 

Padmé’s a widow now. 

“Padmé, I’m _really sorry_ for your loss.”

The Senator smiles, the bags under her eyes growing more pronounced. She finishes her drink and places her mug on the table, rising from her seat. 

“I have to go pack. Do you want to stay here or do you need to go?”

“If I’m not in the way…”  
  


“Nonsense. Besides… I could use the company. I gave my handmaidens some time off, and Threepio isn’t exactly the most relaxing to be around. I had to shut him down after… after.”

Accepting the open-ended statement, Ahsoka follows Padmé to her bedroom, where an open suitcase sits on the bed. 

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“The Festival of Lights is a standard week from tomorrow. As Naboo’s Senator and one of its former Queens, I have to be there.”

“So you’re gonna have to celebrate? And be all _normal_?”

“I’m sure you know that celebrating is absolutely the last thing I feel like doing right now. But I have a duty. A duty to my people and a duty to the Republic.

“Besides, I can’t exactly say I’m in mourning. Some are already suspicious of my relations with the Jedi, specifically Anakin.”

Padmé’s a widow who can’t even take the time to mourn her husband, lest their relationship be discovered and her career jeopardized. Ahsoka knows her friend would never allow personal bias to steer her senatorial decisions if it was to the Republic’s detriment. However, Ahsoka also realizes that Padmé has plenty of enemies who would take any opportunity to destroy her career.

But about one’s duty… 

As much as she hates to admit it, Padmé has a point about that— one that is applicable to herself, as well. But she’s not ready for “normal” yet. Not when everything around her seems to be falling apart.

She can’t dwell on that, though. Not now. 

“Oh Padmé, I was wondering if I could borrow some clothes? All of mine are back in the Temple, and I’m… not quite ready to go into my room yet, so…” 

“You know, I was wondering why you were wearing that. But I understand. And yes, I’d be happy to.”

Ahsoka nods her thanks, a gesture that Padmé returns before striding into her large, walk-in closet.

Sometimes Ahsoka wishes she wasn’t a Jedi, only so she could have as lavish and extensive a wardrobe as Padmé does. 

Of course, there are other reasons, too. 

Padmé returns with a couple of choices. “Ok, so I know these aren’t at all what you usually wear, but they’re athletic and will hopefully work.”

“These are great, thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Padmé returns to her packing. 

“Ahsoka, would you want to come with me?”

“What?”

The Senator places another outfit in her suitcase and turns toward Ahsoka. “To the Festival. I have a great security team, but you could act as my Jedi bodyguard. I need to get there the day before the Festival, so we’d have to leave tomorrow morning. I’m sorry, I know this is on such short notice, but—”

“It’s alright, Padmé. I’d be honored. Besides, it’ll be nice to… get away from it all.”

Padmé flashes her a smile that fades as she seems to mull something over. Ahsoka takes to fidgeting with the borrowed clothing on her lap. 

“You know, the last Jedi to act as my bodyguard was Anakin.”

Ahsoka’s head jerks up. Padmé returns her gaze, expression unwavering. “I'm sure there's no one else Anakin would entrust with my life more than you, Ahsoka."

Ahsoka bites her lip as her eyes burn with tears. How can Padmé know that? How can she compare _her_ to Anakin? Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, one of the strongest Jedi in the Order, and renowned Generals in the GAR. Anakin Skywalker, expert mechanic, skilled tactician, and consummate pilot. 

Anakin Skywalker, brave, confident, kind, determined, and selfless. 

Anakin Skywalker, her Master. 

What hurts the most is that he _was_ all of these things. _Was_ , as in past-tense.

Ahsoka’s never had any epithets or boastful accomplishments. She can’t possibly measure up.

“Hey,” Padmé’s fingers gently tilt Ahsoka’s chin upwards. “It may not feel like it now, but it’ll get better.” 

Ahsoka looks away, unable to meet her eyes. 

There’s silence, and then: “Here, I want to show you something.” 

There’s some rustling, after which Padmé takes one of Ahsoka’s hands in her own, placing a small object in her palm. 

Ahsoka examines the object. Hanging on a dark brown cord is a wooden charm. There are unfamiliar symbols carved into its surface. 

“It’s a Japor snippet,” Padmé says, her voice laced with affection and sadness. “I always wear it but am careful about hiding it in front of others. Anakin made it and gave it to me when we first met. It’s a symbol of good fortune on Tatooine.”

“That’s where Anakin’s from, right?”

Padmé looks at her quizzically. “He’s never told you?”

“All I know is that he came to the Temple super late and is from Tatooine. But all that is from the Temple grapevine. He… never talked about his past.”

“Oh,” Padmé replies, expression slightly perturbed. “Well I think—I think you should probably know.

“When I first met Anakin, he was nine years old. He and his mom were slaves. The Jedi with us successfully gambled for Anakin’s freedom but was unable to do the same for his mom.”

Of all the possibilities Ahsoka had considered, Anakin being an emancipated slave was not one of them. 

“What happened to her? Anakin’s mom?”

At this Padmé hesitates. “She was eventually freed, but Tusken Raiders killed her.” 

Though Ahsoka senses that there is much more to the story, she doesn’t press.

Her Master, a slave. 

Anakin was always so confident and brazen, two traits she would never associate with a slave. Even so, now that she thinks about it, Anakin’s past explains… a lot. 

She remembers the beginning of her apprenticeship, how he seemed distinctly uncomfortable whenever she would call him “Master.” At the time, she had assumed it was because she had been unexpected, unwanted. 

Now that she knows the real reason, she almost prefers the alternative.

Ahsoka starts to hand the snippet back, but Padmé stops her. “It’s alright, Ahsoka. I think you need it more than I do right now.”

“Really?” Padmé nods. “Thank you.” 

Ahsoka considers the charm before slipping the cord over her head. She delicately traces the carved symbols in the wood, the Force whispering of unconditional love. 

For the first time since that earth-shattering moment, Ahsoka’s smile is genuine. 

* * *

Obi-Wan had been called before the Council. 

The Council that _he_ was on but currently barred from— until he “regained his inner balance.” 

But he wasn’t sure _how_. Every step he took felt wobbly and lopsided.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Yoda addresses him. “Needed your skills are, on Naboo. Help protect the Chancellor you must.”

Now that was definitely not what he was expecting.

“Masters,” he replies, “I just… I’m sure there are plenty of other capable Jedi out there who would be happy to fill this role.” 

“To be honest, there are not,” Master Tiin adds, his hologram flickering. “With the war quickly escalating, most of our Knights are out in the field.” The additional _or dead_ remains unspoken but heard nonetheless.

They may not trust him to act as a Council member, but apparently, he’s still worthy of protecting the Chancellor. Strange. 

His inner thoughts are starting to sound like Anakin. 

And though he acknowledges and appreciates the aesthetic beauty of Naboo, his Master’s death kind of negates any admiration he possesses.

Force, he can’t do this. He’s a terrible Jedi.

“Obi-Wan,” Mace Windu begins, obviously having seen his trepidation. “This Council fully recognizes and acknowledges the pain you are going through—”

“Do you?” Obi-Wan interrupts. Even if such an act was disrespectful, he’s a member of the Council too, no matter his age or experience. “Do you, _can_ you, truly know what it is like? What it’s like to watch both your Master and your Padawan be _murdered_ while you watch _helplessly_ , unable to do anything except seek vengeance? To feel such intense regret because not only did you let them _die_ , but you then sought revenge, which is a terrible way to honor them and contradictory to our Ways? To hold their _corpses_ in your arms, knowing you can do _nothing_? To—” He stops, noticing the stricken expressions of the other Jedi in the room. 

“I’m-I’m very sorry, Masters. I seem to have… forgotten myself.” He clasps his hands in front of himself as he bows his head. “I’ll-I’ll be ready in the hangar first thing the day after tomorrow.” 

The Council is silent as Obi-Wan walks out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A standard week in the Star Wars universe is 5 days.
> 
> So I looked it up (and watched some of the later episodes where we see Ahsoka and Padmé close to each other) and they’re very similar in regards to their heights! I mean, Padmé’s clothing is undoubtedly custom-made, but close enough. 
> 
> Oh, and I am by no means attempting to suggest that Padmé doesn’t care or isn’t mourning. I just feel that she is ultimately better at compartmentalizing than Ahsoka, who is still struggling to sort out her emotions. Furthermore, Padmé’s really been keeping herself busy. By drowning herself in work, she doesn’t have the mental energy to dwell on her emotions. 
> 
> Next up: The Festival of Light! Get ready, dear readers, ‘cuz it’s gonna be a wild ride!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! Kudos and/or comments are greatly appreciated!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooo boy, you better buckle up.

As he and Mace land the ship, Obi-Wan is surprised to see Ahsoka standing right next to Padmé in the cluster of individuals awaiting their arrival. 

After the landing sequence was complete, Obi-Wan rises wearily from his seat and exits the ship. 

Until now, he hasn’t seen Ahsoka or Padmé since the funeral. The… _events_ of the past couple of days seem to have taken a toll on them, for Ahsoka looks a bit pale and he can see the bags under Padmé’s eyes, despite her best efforts to hide them. 

Obi-Wan has no idea what he looks like, but he’s sure it’s not pretty. 

He also takes note of Ahsoka’s… Padmé-esque clothing choices, a peculiarity that he suspects comes with an interesting backstory. 

Obi-Wan feels Ahsoka’s eyes on him and concentrates his attention on the lavish architecture surrounding the open courtyard—an unconventional choice meant to protect the Chancellor—in which they had landed. 

He jolts as a hand rests on his shoulder. Mace is looking at him, a slight crease in his brow. 

“You still in there, Obi-Wan? We have to secure the perimeter and go to the briefing about tonight.”

“Y-yes. Yes. Right away.” With a hasty nod towards the Queen and her entourage, he follows after his fellow Jedi.

* * *

As Obi-Wan stands guard near the Chancellor and his associates, the stage set and shielded, all he can think about is how celebrating is absolutely the _last_ thing he feels like doing.

Citizens of Naboo— human, Gungan, and everything in between— are settled in tiered seats surrounding the central podium. The Jedi, CSF, and Naboo Security Force all conduct discreet security checks to ensure the safety of the area before the all-clear is given. Obi-Wan, who is stationed closest to the Chancellor, is the one to tell him they are ready. Acknowledging this with a nod, the Chancellor rises from his seat and walks to the podium, looking around at those gathered before he begins.

“It is an honor to be here for this momentous occasion,” he begins, his words amplified by the sound equipment. “The pride I feel for this planet cannot be put into words. 847 years ago, Naboo joined the Republic. And tonight, we celebrate that union. Take a moment and look around this glorious city of yours. It wasn’t long ago this was all plasma mines. Naboo has indeed come a long way. But as we chart a bold course for the future, let us never forget our past.”

Palpatine finishes a grand flourish towards the sky, which comes alive with intricate and sparkling fireworks of many different shapes and hues. The crowd oohs and aahs at the larger-than-life rendition of Naboo’s history. 

As Obi-Wan stares up at the sky, each bursting firework reminds him of detonators and explosions and lives lost—lives that he was too late to save.

That is a part of his past he will _never_ forget. 

* * *

One sleepless night later and Obi-Wan finds himself on the Republic’s military base on Naboo the next day, debating security measures with Mace and Chancellor Palpatine.

“Though I am happy the festival went as planned, I worry that Dooku might try something. I highly doubt he would squander this opportunity,” Mace states, his arms crossed. “I refuse to needlessly take that risk.” 

Palpatine seems to consider the Jedi’s words for a bit, after which he responds, “While I appreciate your concern, Master Jedi, it is obvious that your concerns are nonexistent. Still, if it will put your minds at ease, how about Master Kenobi remains with me? Surely he is more than capable of dealing with any threat that may arise.” 

All eyes turn towards him. 

“Well, Master Kenobi?” Mace is looking at him expectantly.

“Oh! Um, yes, I would be honored,” he hastily replies, his words accompanied by a flourishing bow. 

“Fine. I’ll be in my guest quarters.” 

Mace nods respectfully as he walks away, grumbling something about excessive paperwork.

* * *

Obi-Wan has never felt such a strong urge to tell the Chancellor of the Republic to shut up.

Of course, he would never do such a thing, but the sentiment remains. 

Palpatine has been attempting to strike up a conversation, to which Obi-Wan has responded the least he can without coming off as rude. 

“We will leave as soon as Queen Neeyutnee’s banquet is over,” the Chancellor says seemingly at random. “I also want to say goodbye to Senator Amidala. She has been a very gracious host, especially considering everything that has occurred. Speaking of which, I wanted to extend my deepest condolences to you, Master Jedi. Anakin was a dear friend of mine, and I was deeply saddened to hear of his loss.” 

Obi-Wan nearly stumbles. “Yes… thank you, Chancellor.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, the unlit hallways whispering of fear and pain and _death_ from what feels like a lifetime ago.

The two round the bend and reach the entrance to the chamber, which automatically opens for them.

The banquet hall is dark and shadowy when they enter. What little light filters through the windows casts eerie shadows that seem to devour everything in their path. 

The Force rings with warning, but the doors slam shut when he turns around to escape. 

“Chancellor, stay behind me.”

“Yes, Master Kenobi.”

The Force flares, suddenly saturated with Dark, screaming _there, there, look!_

Sitting at the head of the table is Dooku.

Obi-Wan feels his blood begin to boil. 

This man, his Master’s Master, is responsible for Anakin’s death. His Padawan would demand retribution for his despicable actions, prompting Obi-Wan to lightly reprimand the Knight and remind him of his duties. But of course, that is no longer an option.

So Obi-Wan will do what Anakin cannot. 

“Count Dooku,” he says in greeting, his voice kept neutral by sheer force of will. “Kind of you to make an appearance.” 

“Master Kenobi, a pleasant surprise. Strange to see you without your apprentice yapping at your heels. Oh wait…” He smiles, cruel and triumphant. 

“Your overt attempts at goading me will not work, Dooku.”

“Oh I don’t need them to.” The Count grins menacingly and is swallowed up by the shadows. 

Obi-Wan notices two Magnaguards emerging from the shadows, the ends of their electrostaffs crackling with energy. His eyes dart around as he quickly assesses the situation.

In the blink of an eye, his saber is locked with Magnaguard’s staff while another approaches him from behind. He twirls his lightsaber in an arc to deflect the guard’s staff, Force-pushing it away. The Magnaguard behind him jabs his staff forward and Obi-Wan dodges and lunges, bringing his lightsaber up in a slash that separates the Magnaguard from its arm, followed by a bisecting swipe. 

He avoids the first Magnaguard’s punch and crosses behind, running it through with his lightsaber before it even has the chance to process his location. 

With the Magnaguards taken care of, he locates Dooku. The Count had advanced upon the cowering Chancellor, blade unlit but intentions clear.

Utilizing the Force to enhance his speed, Obi-Wan blocks Dooku’s path, saber pointing directly at the Sith. 

“Chancellor, I think it best if you leave,” Obi-Wan says, his uncompromising gaze glued on the threat before him. 

“Yes, that is a good idea.” There’s a swish of cloth and the sound of an electronic door as Palpatine flees the scene, leaving only him and Dooku.

“Hmm. It seems you’ve gone and ruined my plans,” the Sith declares impassively. “No matter. Your life will be a worthy consolation prize.” Dooku draws and ignites his blade, bringing it vertically in front of his face and swinging it down in a classic Makashi flourish, a direct challenge.

Obi-Wan stares his opponent in the eye, pale blue meeting Sith-gold. 

Then he breathes. In and out, inhale and exhale, his body and mind centered and focused.

Obi-Wan strikes first, a controlled yet sweeping motion that is blocked with a flick of Dooku’s blade. The Count retaliates with a flurry of powerful and precise attacks, one hand behind his back. Obi-Wan parries and dodges each blow, attention on the fight in front of him and not what Dooku had done to his Padawan, to his best friend.

An intense Force push slams Obi-Wan into a pillar. He shakes his head, attempting to clear his vision of the fuzzy, dark spots that dance in front of him. He locates his lightsaber and staggers to his feet. Igniting his saber, he sneers at Dooku. “Is that all?” He taunts. “Quite disappointing, really.” 

Waving his hand toward a pristinely set table, Dooku sends forks and other pieces of chinaware streaking towards Obi-Wan, who dodges and slices the weaponized tableware. One of the forks spears his left arm, which he pulls free with a pained grunt. 

His view of Dooku is blocked by the chairs that join the assault and are subjected to the same treatment. He runs towards the last chair and uses it for leverage to leap towards Dooku. Blue falls upon red in a powerful strike that sends Dooku back a step, their blades locked together in a battle of strength and skill. Dooku’s lightsaber casts his face in blood-red, his golden eyes gleaming. 

Obi-Wan is making headway, pushing their interlocked blades closer and closer to his adversary’s body. 

Suddenly a flash of electric-blue light fills his vision, and an intense, searing _pain_ follows. He is helpless to do anything but spasm uncontrollably as his nerves are set aflame.

Kriffing Sith lightning. 

He hits the ground and groans, his vision and mind cloudy. He thinks he smells smoke with a hint of burnt cloth (along with another scent he refuses to identify). His limbs twitching and body aching, he manages to make it to a kneel, his body swaying.

“I may regard you with some respect, Master Kenobi, but this consideration never extended to the rest of your _pathetic_ lineage,” Dooku scoffs, voice dripping with haughty disdain. “They are—or, _were_ —a disgrace. Maybe once I finish with you, I’ll go after Skywalker’s poor excuse for a padawan. It was… Ahsoka Tano, yes? Hmm. The death of her Master must have _devastated_ her. Her feelings make her _vulnerable_.” He hums, tapping his chin with his finger in faux-contemplation. “But, under the right guidance… I think she could make a _wonderful_ Sith.”

No. _No_. 

He wants to reply, wants to assert the erroneous nature of Dooku’s claims, but his throat is too dry and the words refuse to form.

“I think _Darth Ignis_ has a nice ring to it, don’t you?”

The rage and protectiveness that crashes through him invigorates him and brings him to his feet.

Obi-Wan is a master of the Soresu form, the ultimate expression of the Jedi philosophy of non-aggression. He is the eye of the storm, the calm in the midst of the howling and untamed gale. 

But he has come to realize that no, he is not the eye of the storm—he is only _within_ it.

And so when the fierce and unrelenting winds inevitably try to take hold, try to carry him away, he lets them.

He is not the eye of the storm. He never was. 

He _is_ the storm.

And woe betide the one who dares to challenge an unstoppable force of nature. 

He bolts towards Dooku, ducking under the man’s deadly jab and executing a barrage of strong, spinning blows with a snarl on his face. 

His swift and acrobatic attacks embody the ferocious winds and swirling tempest, channeling the earnest defiance of his Master and the relentless loyalty of his Padawan, both of them pushing him on, heightening his senses and freeing him from the bonds of physical limitations. 

Remaining on the offensive, Obi-Wan drives Dooku out of the banquet hall and into the hallway. They exchange parries and jabs and blows, Jedi and Sith engaged in an intense struggle. 

Their sabers lock as Obi-Wan pins Dooku against one of the large windows, the glass groaning in protest.

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan harnesses his dwindling Force-strength and _shoves_ , sending Dooku flying through the glass. 

Obi-Wan leaps through the shattered window after him, using the Force to control his descent onto the exterior platform below. 

Dooku regains his footing and growls at Obi-Wan, lurching to his feet. With a savage cry, Obi-Wan charges, his lightsaber humming and at the ready. Their blades strike wildly, devoid of their previous control, precision, or efficiency. Their attacks are desperate and ruthless. Both men have been brought to the physical and mental brink, yet neither one leaves room for hesitations or feints.

But then Obi-Wan sees it. 

For just one, beautiful moment, there is an opening in Dooku’s defense.

With the power and strength of his Padawan, Obi-Wan lunges, thrusting out his blade as Dooku, anticipating his move, goes for a lethal jab. 

Everything stops.

There they stand, panting, arms outstretched. 

Obi-Wan extinguishes his lightsaber, the blade retracting from where it had pierced Dooku’s abdomen. 

“ _That_ ,” he growls decisively, “was for _Anakin_.”

The Count staggers and falls to the ground, his lightsaber clattering out of his hand. Summoning the Sith’s blade to him, Obi-Wan hooks it onto his belt, kneeling to look Dooku in the eyes.

“You’ve lost, Dooku. Soon you will die, and your Apprentice will follow. Then the world will be rid of the Sith.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Kenobi. _I_ was the Apprentice.” Dooku chuckles, a rivulet of crimson blood dribbling down from his mouth, his golden eyes sparkling with untold secrets. “ _I’ve won._ ”

Before Obi-Wan could even process such a revelation, Dooku’s rattling breaths suddenly stop. He feels a disorienting sensation equivalent to a _snap_ in the Force as the Balance shifts. 

Dooku is dead, a triumphant smile forever frozen on his face.

And, if his Grandmaster was right, the Sith Master is still out there, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. 

Obi-Wan closes Dooku’s eyes and rises, staring dispassionately at the corpse. He comms the Naboo Security Force and limps inside, exhaustion sinking into his very bones. 

As he gazes out the semi-reflective windows, golden eyes stare back at him.

He stops and blinks. 

Pale blue, just as they’ve always been. He sighs and continues on his way.

Must’ve been a trick of the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ignis_ is Latin for “fire/brightness.”
> 
> Thank you so much to [@loosingletters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters) for helping me figure out the lightsaber combat, and to [@simpskywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpskywalker) and [@MaraLan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraLan) for looking it over. You are all absolutely amazing!
> 
> Some elements from this chapter, such as the Chancellor’s speech, are directly taken from the Clone Wars episode, “Crisis on Naboo.” 
> 
> No matter if they are constructive or complimentary, I love hearing your thoughts! Kudos are also greatly appreciated 😊
> 
> Thank you again for reading, and I’ll see you next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU for your support, especially with that last chapter!!! Every single comment I receive makes me smile. Thank you for continuing to make my day.
> 
> Considering my current hyperfixation with the last episode of the Mandalorian (which I highly recommend watching if you haven’t), I’m honestly shocked I got this done in time. Proud, but shocked.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

Obi-Wan stands within a black void. He cannot see or feel or hear anything, not even his own breath. 

A flash of light catches his eye and he turns toward it. 

Nothing. 

Wordless whispers reverberate throughout the infinite space, taunting and crowding him. 

_“Master.”_

The disembodied call echoes over and over as Obi-Wan whips around, searching desperately for the source. 

“ _Aren’t you proud of me, Master?_ ”

“Anakin?” He shouts back, wanting, _needing_ , the chance to see his Padawan, to say he was sorry and that he was proud of him and that he _loved_ him. 

To say goodbye. 

“ _Did you miss me?_ ” 

The voice is less echoey, more defined. He turns around. 

Anakin walks toward him, eyes sparkling and smile bright. Though the scar on his face remains, he looks healthy and unmarred by the horrors of war. 

“Anakin…” he whispers, emotions flooding through him. He starts walking toward his Padawan.

In the blink of an eye, blood begins to soak through Anakin’s robes, dripping from a circular hole in his chest.

Obi-Wan gasps and hastens his pace, the distance between them insurmountable. 

Anakin, meanwhile, is still smiling without a care in the world, even as his body seems to decay before his very eyes, burning and festering and fading into ash. 

He runs and runs and runs, hoping to make it to Anakin in time, hoping that he can _save_ him, that he won’t fail him again—

There is nothing left but a pile of ashes.

Obi-Wan crumples to the ground. “No,” he groans. “ _No_.”

He extends a hand but immediately recoils as a wall of fire leaps upwards. 

A dark shadow appears, its breathing loud and robotic. It looms over him on the other side of the inferno, the red-tinged eye-lenses opaque and emotionless. 

The specter approaches with thundering steps, walking through the fire as if it is not even there. Though flames lick ravenously at his cape, the fabric remains untouched. 

It halts right in front of him, the dancing flames creating violent, endless shadows. 

Obi-Wan attempts to crawl backward but finds himself unable to move. 

“ _Kenobi_ ,” the shadow says, angry and desperate, its voice a perfect replica of Anakin’s (no, it _can't_ be, it can't be Anakin). “ _Look at the destruction you have wrought by_ my _hand_.” 

It sweeps out a gloved hand.

There are dead Jedi everywhere, mauled and broken, some of their eyes open but unseeing.

His palm feels wet and he lifts it to his face, seeing the blood from his fallen friends dripping from his hand. 

“ _You couldn’t protect me_ ,” it continues. “ _How can you expect to protect_ them?”

Obi-Wan hears a body fall to his left, whipping his head around to see Ahsoka lying on the ground, hand outstretched toward him, terrified expression forever frozen on her face.

He can’t move towards Ahsoka, can only move his arms, so he settles for reaching towards her, hoping to grab her hand. 

Her limp hand is just out of his reach and her sightless eyes seem to bore into his. 

“ _Stop_ ,” he whimpers, his voice breaking. “Please. I’m _sorry_.”

“ _It’s too late_. You _made me into this._ ” The specter’s voice is laced with one of a much darker and more refined tone. “ _Aren’t you_ proud _of me, Master?”_

“I’m not your Master. I-I don’t know you.”

“ _Oh Obi-Wan_ ,” his voice the gentle caress before the final betrayal. “ _You’ll never escape the truth_.”

A blood-red blade comes to life in the demon’s—no, in _Anakin’s_ —hand. Obi-Wan’s vision is overtaken by red as the saber slices through his neck. 

As the void swallows him whole, His final thought is that he never got to say goodbye.

* * *

Obi-Wan gasps, shooting up like a rocket. 

He looks around, gaining a semblance of his surroundings. 

He’s in his private quarters in the ship they were taking back to Coruscant. They’re two days into their journey.

Obi-Wan hadn’t _meant_ to fall asleep, but his body must have finally surrendered to the sheer exhaustion of the past couple of days… or years. But days, specifically.

It was just a dream. 

Just a dream.

And yet the image of that masked shadow, the… _monster_ that had Anakin’s voice—he can’t get it out of his head. 

Obi-Wan wearily rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and rises from his bunk. 

He won’t be getting any more sleep tonight.

* * *

Despite having spent many a night cycle on a ship, Ahsoka has always struggled to fall asleep in one. 

Early on in their partnership, Anakin had taken notice and began meditating with her each night. The tradition soon became a nightly routine, regardless of whether they were on a ship or in the Temple. Ahsoka ~~knows~~ knew he found traditional meditation to be quite difficult, so she appreciated his willingness to do so for her. She remembers him mentioning something about the Force being “too loud.” Considering some of the Temple rumors about him, as well as what she’s seen of his abilities, she can understand his hesitation.

But of course, Anakin’s not here anymore. There’s no one for her to meditate with or learn from or—or—

Ahsoka shakes her head and focuses on her lukewarm caf. She can’t afford to dwell on such emotions. In reality, she should’ve taken the time to process them and release them into the Force… she can’t. Not yet. 

In a way, they’re all she has left.

She double-checks her shields, making sure they’re secure. Because of Dooku’s death, Master Windu had wanted her to fly back to Coruscant with the Chancellor’s entourage. 

Count Dooku’s _dead_.

She’s very happy about it, of course. He was the leader of the Separatists and a Sith. His death will only accelerate the war and bring about its end that much sooner. A small part of her even _relishes_ in his death. It’s only fair, considering he had Anakin killed.

But… _Obi-Wan_ was the one who killed him. She knows he’s killed a Sith before and holds the moniker of “Sith Killer,” but it just… doesn’t sit right with her. 

Ahsoka’s still mad at him though, so she can’t really get herself to care all that much about Obi-Wan.

And of course, the man in question chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen, looking exhausted and bedraggled. 

He nods briefly in acknowledgment as he makes a beeline for the caf machine, seeming to fully immerse himself in the task of making his caf.

As he fumbles with the grounds, Ahsoka notices that his hands are shaking.

She’s hit with a pang of sympathy, but then all she can feel is _anger_ and _grief_ and… 

And regret.

In her own frustration with Obi-Wan’s decisions and her own sorrow, she had forgotten.

He knew Anakin for _far_ longer than she did. He’s probably drowning in grief even more than she is. 

And yet here they are, turning each other away instead of leaning on each other for support. 

She’s tired of losing people.

“Obi-Wan,” she calls out, stopping him in his tracks. “We need to talk.”

The Jedi Master sighs, his shoulders slightly sagging. “Ahsoka, neither of us are well-rested, and it’s still rather… fresh. I don’t think now is the best time to be ha—”

“It’s as best a time as any. Besides, we might as well get it over with.” 

He turns back toward her, examining the unwavering expression on her face before sighing in reluctant acceptance. 

“Alright.” 

He pads over to the other chair and sits down, clutching the steaming cup to his chest.

They sit for a while, just two Jedi drinking caf at opposite ends of a table, the silence between them simmering with unsaid words. 

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan murmurs. “I never wanted this.”

Oh. 

She definitely hadn’t expected such an upfront apology right away.

Ahsoka takes a breath. “I know,” she replies. “But it happened, anyway. And… it’s not your fault. You were part of it, though.”

The words are almost impossible to say. And yet she finds herself believing them.

“Why did you do it, Obi-Wan?”

He takes a sip of his caf before responding. “A sense of duty. A need to prove myself.” Obi-Wan huffs, studying his caf with such intensity that one would think it contained the answers to all the galaxy’s problems. “Looking back, it all seems so… _pointless_.”

“You’re on the Council. You’re one of the best Generals the Republic has. Why d’you need to _prove_ yourself?”

“Many reasons, I suppose. Between you and me, Ahsoka, they never would have put me on the Council if not for the war.” The hint of bitterness in his tone surprises her. “I also… I wanted the chance to prove myself for Anakin’s sake, too. And for _him_ to prove himself. I took him on _immediately_ after I was knighted. I wasn’t exactly the… model Jedi, so many felt I wasn’t ready to take on a Padawan. Heck, _I_ didn’t feel ready to take on a Padawan, let alone one with such unique circumstances. And Anakin’s difficulties with attachment and late entry into the Order have always been a point of contention between him and other Jedi.

“It doesn’t even matter now. He’s—” Obi-Wan’s voice audibly cracks and he cuts himself off, turning away and squeezing his eyes shut. “I failed. I failed him and I failed you.” He looks up at her, eyes shiny. 

Ahsoka feels the tell-tale sting of tears in the back of her eyes. “I-I think Anakin was a great Master. And I couldn’t have asked for a better Grandmaster.” She reaches her hand across the table.

Obi-Wan’s breath audibly trembles as he hesitates, glancing up at her in an uncharacteristic request for reassurance. Whatever he sees in her expression reassures him, for he grasps her offered hand like it’s a lifeline.

“I’m-I’m glad we had this discussion,” he confesses softly after a while. “However, it is late, and we should probably attempt to get some rest.”

Though they are both well-aware that Obi-Wan will not be going back to sleep, neither of them says anything. The Jedi slowly pulls away and rises from his chair, grabs their now-empty mugs, and washes them before placing them on the drying rack. 

Ahsoka doesn’t want to try to go to sleep. She _can’t_. 

Obi-Wan seems to notice her lack of movement, for he turns toward her, a touch of concern on his face.

“Ahsoka?”

She briefly looks up at him before focusing on her fidgeting hands.

"I… I haven’t really slept. Anakin and I... we used to meditate together. It helped." She feels his intensely-attentive gaze and looks up, seeing the surprise on Obi-Wan’s face that fades into a smile, the expression fond and sad.

"I know that I'm not... not Anakin, but I'd be happy to meditate with you, Ahsoka."

She looks at him. _Really_ looks at him. She notices how tired he looks, how his cheekbones jut out more than usual, how his eyes betray a maelstrom of emotions his Force presence does not. 

She needs this. They _both_ need this.

Ahsoka inclines her head in acquiescence. She and Obi-Wan kneel across from each other on the floor and begin to immerse themselves in the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, characters seem to drink a whole lotta tea and caf in this fic! That was definitely not intentional. It just happened, I guess.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021, everyone!!!
> 
> Aaaaahhhh I’m sorry I know this is late! I’m admittedly kinda mad about it because I was proud of myself for maintaining a consistent update schedule, but what can you do? 
> 
> This chapter was really fighting me and refused to surpass 800 words so _I’m sorry_! The next chapter is a really big one, so no guarantees on when that’ll come out. 
> 
> I hope it’s worth the wait!

Obi-Wan is tired. 

He is so, so tired. 

Tired of losing those important to him, tired of the guilt that seems to increase its suffocating hold more and more each day.

Tired of not being able to _do_ anything other than watch helplessly and struggle not to collapse under the crushing weight of the Galaxy on his shoulders.

The gaping wound in his heart festers and grows.

* * *

Ahsoka had visited the barracks the day after returning from Naboo, her discussion and meditation with Obi-Wan filling her with renewed courage. Even so, she had needed someone to walk with her to face this challenge. 

And there was no one she knew that was more loyal or supportive than Rex. 

The Captain strolls alongside her down the long hallways of the Temple, subtly glancing at his surroundings— whether it was to scope out the territory or because of interest, she didn’t know.

“Heard anything about what’s happening to the 501st?” Ahsoka asks him, attempting to stray her attention away from their destination.

“Cody told me we might fall under Kenobi’s command, but those are just rumors. Besides, he hasn’t seen Kenobi since _that_ happened.” She winces internally at the forced nonchalance of his tone.

“Hey,” he prompts, “I know this isn’t the best time to ask, but hear anything about a new Master? Maybe you can stay with us if you end up with Kenobi.”

She swallows. “Nothing yet. They’re giving me time, but have been pressuring me a bit more as time goes on.”

“There is a war still going on, after all. Even with Dooku gone.”

“Yeah…” 

They walk in silence the rest of the way.

* * *

  
“Are you sure you’re ready, kid?”

Ahsoka looks up at Rex, the slight furrow in his brow evidence of his worry. 

“No,” she replies, forcing her voice to remain steady and certain. “But I won’t ever be ready, so I might as well get it over with.”

“And you’re _sure_ you don’t want me going with you.”

“Rex,” she turns toward the Captain, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Though I appreciate the support, I need to do this alone.”

He nods, his worry unassuaged.

“Don’t wait for me. I’ll be ok.”

“Ok,” he sighs. “Ok.” With a quick squeeze of her shoulder, he bids her farewell and walks off. 

After watching Rex turn the corner, she returns her gaze to the challenge ahead. 

A non-descript, standard door stands before her. On the wall directly to the left is a plaque that reads “Knight Skywalker and Padawan Tano.” Her hand skims the back of her silka beads. 

She doesn’t _want_ to do this, doesn’t want to face the life she once lived, the life that was irreversibly altered by a single blaster shot.

She summons all of her courage and strength, nurtured and forged by her Master and Grandmaster and friends both on and off the battlefield.

Ahsoka takes one, two, steps, keys in her code, and walks inside.

It’s strange—though the entire world is different, nothing about their rooms has changed. Ahsoka feels as if she’s walking into a memory. With no one occupying them, they remained frozen in time, a memorial for all that was lost.

Though Anakin was gone, his Force presence still lingered in every loose droid part and unfinished project. Ahsoka skims her fingers over various objects in the room as she walks, the clear trail in the thin layer of dust her only witness.

She walks over to the couch and spots the fluffy, burgundy-colored blanket that Anakin loved to cocoon himself in. She sinks into the couch and grabs the blanket, wrapping it around herself. She keeps the blanket in place with one hand. With the other, she pulls the Japor snippet out from under her shirt and grips it until the rounded edges dig into her palm.

Sitting in a room filled with memories, swathed in his favorite blanket and holding something he lovingly made with his own two hands, Ahsoka can almost feel Anakin’s arms around her in a warm, sheltering embrace.

* * *

  
It is a normal day for regular citizens of Coruscant. Individuals go about their normal business, whether that includes fixing ships or selling spices. Speeders dot the airways like flies as they race to their destinations. 

The cloudless Coruscanti sky darkens and its citizens look up in fear. 

Looming high above the sky is none other than the _Invisible Hand_ , Grievous’ personal flagship. 

War had come to Coruscant.   
  


* * *

In the shadows, Darth Sidious smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reckoning is here (:

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably tell from the chapter count, I will most definitely be continuing this. I really appreciate your kudos, comments, or both; they honestly make my day and really motivate me to write!
> 
> Be sure to check out my [Tumblr](https://newdougsblog.tumblr.com/)!


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